Puslapio vaizdai
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That if he over-hold his price so much,

We'll none of him; but let him, like an engine
Not portable, lye under this report,
"Bring action hither, this can't go to war:
A stirring dwarf we do allowance give,
Before a fleeping gyant; tell him fo.

Patr. I fhall, and bring his anfwer presently.
Aga. In fecond voice we'll not be satisfied,
We come to speak with him. Ulyffes, enter.

Ajax. What is he more than another?
Aga. No more than what he thinks he is.

[Exit.

[Exit Ulyffes.

Ajax. Is he fo much? do you not think, he thinks himself a better man than I am?

Aga. No question.

Ajax. Will you fubfcribe his thought, and fay, he is? Aga. No, noble Ajax, you are as ftrong, as valiant, as wife, no lefs noble, much more gentle, and altogether more tractable.

Ajax. Why fhould a man be proud? how doth pride grow? I know not what it is.

Aga. Your mind is clearer, Ajax, and your virtues the fairer; he, that is proud, eats up himself. Pride is his own glass, his own trumpet, his own chronicle; and whatever praises it felf but in the deed, devours the deed in the praise.

Re-enter Ulyffes.

Ajax. I do hate a proud man, as I hate the engendring of toads.

Neft. Yet he loves himfelf: is't not strange?
Ulyf. Achilles will not to the field to morrow.
Aga. What's his excuse?

Ulyf. He doth rely on none;

But carries on the ftream of his difpofe,
Without obfervance or refpect of any,
In will peculiar, and in felf-admiffion.

Aga. Why will he not, upon our fair request,
Un-tent his perfon, and fhare the air with us?

Uly. Things small as nothing, for requeft's fake only, He makes important: he's poffeft with Greatness, And speaks not to himself, but with a pride That quarrels at felf-breath. Imagin'd worth Holds in his blood fuch fwoln and hot discourse, That, 'twixt his mental and his active parts, Kingdom'd Achilles in commotion rages, And batters down himself; what should I fay? He is so plaguy proud, that the death-tokens of it Cry, no recovery.

Aga. Let Ajax go to him.

Dear lord, go you and greet him in his tent;
'Tis faid, he holds you well, and will be led
At your request a little from himself.

Ulyf. O, Agamemnon, let it not be fo.
We'll confecrate the steps that Ajax makes,
When they go from Achilles. Shall the proud lord,
That baftes his arrogance with his own feam,
And never fuffers matters of the world
Enter his thoughts, (fave fuch as do revolve
And ruminate himself,) fhall he be worship'd
Of That, we hold an idol more than he?
No, this thrice-worthy and right-valiant lord
Muft not fo ftale his palm, nobly acquir'd;
Nor, by my will, affubjugate his merit,

(As amply titled, as Achilles is,) by going to Achilles :
That were t'inlard his pride, already fat,

And add more coals to Cancer, when he burns

With entertaining great Hyperion.

This lord go to him? Jupiter forbid,

And say in thunder, Achilles go to him!

Neft. O, this is well, he rubs the vein of him.
Dio. And how his filence drinks up this applaufe!
Ajax. If I
go to him-
-with my armed fift

I'll path him o'er the face.

Aga. O no, you shall not go.

Ajax. An he be proud with me, I'll pheese his pride; let me go to him.

Ulyf. Not for the worth that hangs upon our quarrel. Ajax. A paltry infolent fellow

D 2

Neft.

Neft. How he defcribes himself!

Ajax. Can he not be fociable?
Uly. The raven chides blackness.
Ajax. I'll let his humours blood.

Aga. He'll be the physician, that should be the patient.
Ajax. And all men were o'my mind-

Ulyf. Wit would be out of fashion.

Ajax. He fhould not bear it fo, he should eat fwords firft: fhall pride carry it?

Neft. An 'twould, you'd carry half.

Ulyf. He would have ten fhares.

Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple,— Neft. He's not yet through warm: (23) force him with praises; pour in, pour in; his ambition is dry. Uly. My lord, you feed too much on this diflike. Neft. Our noble General, do not do fo.

Dio. You must prepare to fight without Achilles. Ulyf. Why, 'tis this naming of him doth him harm. Here is a man- -but 'tis before his face

I will be filent.

Neft. Wherefore fhould you fo?

He is not emulous, as Achilles is.

Ulys. Know the whole world, he is as valiant.
Ajax. A whorfon dog! that palters thus with us

Would he were a Trojan!

Neft. What a vice were it in Ajax now

Ulys. If he were proud.

Dio. Or covetous of praise.

Uly. Ay, or furly borne.

Dio. Or ftrange, or felf-affected.

Ulyf. Thank the heav'ns, lord, thou art of fweet compofure;

(23) Ajax. I will knead him, I'll make him fupple, he is not yet through

warm.

Neft. Force him with praifes ; &c.] The latter Part of Ajax's Speech is certainly got out of Place, and ought to be affign'd to Neftor, as I have ventur'd to tranfpofe it. Ajax is feeding on his Vanity, and boasting what he'll do to Achilles; he'll pash him o'er the Face, he'll make him eat Swords; he'll knead him, he'll fupple him, &c. Neftor and Ulyffes flily labour to keep him up in this Vein; and to this End Neftor craftily hints, that Ajax is not warm yet, but must be cram'd with more Flattery.

Praise him that got thee, her that gave thee fuck:
Fam'd be thy Tutor, and thy parts of nature
Thrice-fam❜d beyond, beyond all erudition;
But he that difciplin'd thy arms to fight,
Let Mars divide eternity in twain,
And gave him half; and for thy vigor,
Bull-bearing Milo his Addition yields

To finewy Ajax; I'll not praise thy wisdom,
Which, like a bourn, a pale, a fhore, confines
Thy spacious and dilated parts. Here's Neftor,
Inftructed by the Antiquary times;

He muft, he is, he cannot but be wife:
But pardon, father Neftor, were your days
As green as Ajax, and your brain fo temper'd,
You should not have the eminence of him,
But be as Ajax.

Ajax. Shall I call you father?

Ulyf. Ay, my good fon.

Dio. Be rul'd by him, lord Ajax.

Uly. There is no tarrying here; the Hart Achilles Keeps thicket; please it our great General

To call together all his State of war;

Fresh Kings are come to Troy: to morrow, friends,
We must with all our main of pow'r stand fast:
And here's a lord, come Knights from Eaft to Weft,
And cull their flow'r, Ajax fhall cope the best.
Aga. Go we to Council, let Achilles fleep;

Light boats fail fwift, though greater hulks draw deep.

[Exeunt.

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ACT III.

SCENE, Paris's Apartments in the Palace, in Troy.

Enter Pandarus, and a Servant. [Mufick within.]

F

PANDARU S.

RIEND! you! pray you, a word: do not
you follow the young lord Paris?

Ser. Ay, Sir, when he goes before me.
Pan. You do depend upon him, I mean?
Ser. Sir, I do depend upon the lord.

Pan. You depend upon a noble gentleman: I must needs praise him.

Ser. The lord be praised!

Pan. You know me, do you not?

Ser. Faith, Sir, superficially.

Pan. Friend, know me better, I am the lord Pan

darus.

Ser. I hope, I fhall know your honour better.

Pan. I do defire it.

Ser. You are in the ftate of grace?

Pan. Grace? not fo, friend: honour and lordship are my titles:

What mufick is this?

Ser. I do but partly know, Sir; it is mufick in parts. Pan. Know you the musicians?

Ser. Wholly, Sir.

Pan. Who play they to?

Ser. To the hearers, Sir.

Pan. At whofe pleasure, friend?

Ser. At mine, Sir, and theirs that love mufick.

Pan.

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